After Image
by deangirl1
Summary: Missing scene for 6.05. Dean cleans up...


**Disclaimer:** This is a transformative work of fiction based on the original characters of E. Kripke. No infringement or profit intended. Just borrowing your toys...

**A/N:** Missing scene for 6.05.

* * *

The sun on his face couldn't dispel the chill that had settled into Dean's very soul at the memory of his brother watching him be turned. When arms suddenly reached for him and pulled him up, Dean shrank back from the vision of that cruel half smile superimposed over the face holding him up and thumping his chest.

Dean pulled back from the crowding presence of his brother and grandfather. It was too much even without the heightened vampire senses. Their expressions mirrored each other almost comically as Dean attempted to scramble backwards. He was disoriented and uncoordinated; he felt like a stranger in his own body.

"Hey, hey, Dean – you're okay," Sam attempted his soothing voice. It made Dean cringe, it sounded so insincere now.

"Just give him a minute," Samuel muttered, laying a hand on Sam's arm to keep him from following Dean.

"Are you sure it worked?" Sam growled at the older man.

"It worked. Just give me a damn minute," Dean managed to rasp out before Samuel could respond. Dean managed to get to his hands and knees, hating to show weakness in front of either of the other two men, knowing he was being judged and found wanting.

"Just take it easy, Dean. I told you that cure was no walk in the park," Samuel urged.

Dean just grunted. He managed to get a hand on the wall behind him and pull himself to his feet. The head rush almost drove him back to his knees. Pain lanced through his skull and his stomach protested. There was no way he could have anything left to bring up but dry heaves were still a distinct, and unpleasant, possibility. Time was, nothing would have stopped Sam from being right in his face wanting to know Dean was okay but, he wasn't surprised to see that Sam had lost interest in hovering and had turned to begin tidying up. Which sounded like a really good idea to Dean.

"I'm going to grab a shower..." Dean somehow made it to his duffle, grabbed his kit and what he hoped were clean clothes and disappeared into the blissful solitude of the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him, he allowed himself to simply slide to the floor, his back against the door.

He hurt. Everywhere. Inside and out.

Now that the vampire blood was out of his system, all of his human infirmities were back full force. He was bruised and sore everywhere from flying into and off of the dumpster and the subsequent beating hadn't done anything to diminish his headache. Thinking about that immediately conjured Sam's face... twisted. Watching.

Dean shuddered and lunged for the toilet, dry heaving until tears ran down his cheeks. Finally, he spit the last bit of bile from his mouth and sank back to the floor. He was shaking, more from weakness than cold. He still had his coat on and was sitting in a sunbeam. The sun was up... which was odd. It had still been night when he'd taken the "cure". How long had the two of them stood by and watched him convulsing on the floor. Sam hadn't been by his side until he had actually come around and been aware of his surroundings. He'd been alone as his nerve endings had reawakened with a vengeance. Maybe he'd miscalculated how close to dawn it was? Why would they have just let him lie on the floor?

Dean levered himself back to his feet using the counter. He couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. But he needed time to get his game face back on...

God... was that even possible? What had he done? The bloodlust had taken him right back to the pit. He could tell himself it didn't matter, that they were just vampires and they had to die one way or another. He could tell himself it wasn't his fault, it was just the vampire blood, racing through his body, making him do it. It wasn't hunger though; he'd simply been lost in the killing, the balance and swing of the blade, feeling it slide through flesh...

Cold sweat was already flowing down his face as he lunged once more for the toilet.

When he was done, his head was swimming. When was the last time he'd eaten anything? The last thing he remembered drinking before that God-awful concoction was the beer in the bar. Dean leaned over the sink and splashed water over his face, being sure to carefully wash his face and hands before splashing more water into his mouth, rinsing and spitting before sucking it back greedily. His stomach clenched, but he was able to control it, and it did make him feel a little more clear headed, at least enough to finally strip and get in the shower. He couldn't get the blood and filth off the rest of him soon enough.

He turned the water up as hot as he could possibly stand it. Standing under it, letting it pulse into him, helped to relieve some of the soreness and ache in his body. His right arm and shoulder were killing him now from almost being twisted off.

He tried not to think, but Sam's face kept coming back to haunt him. He'd stood there and watched him be turned. He hadn't been freaked out by it – Sam had never been that good at staying calm – at least not where Dean was concerned. Or had Dean misremembered that too. That Sam worried about him the way he worried about Sam? No. Dean remembered how frantic Sam had been the entire year before he'd gone to hell. So. No. This was new. But why? When Samuel had said he could cure Dean, Sam's "What" had sounded more like a denial... like he didn't want him turned back. And then there were all the questions about what it felt like and what he'd seen... What was that all about? Dean pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead. He wasn't getting anywhere. His head was killing him and he just couldn't put any of these pieces together to look like his brother.

Finally, the water started to get cold. Dean reluctantly got out, drying off and wrapping a towel around himself so he could shave.

After he was dressed, he sank down on the closed toilet. He was so tired. He ran his hand down his face... and his thoughts turned to Lisa.

What had he done? How the hell was he going to make this right with her? With Ben? What he could have done... he shuddered just thinking about how close he'd come. He was pretty sure she'd never forgive him. He knew he'd never forgive himself. But he knew it would come to this. That somehow his very presence in their life would hurt them. They'd done so much for him, and this is how he repaid them?

How could he even face them? Would Lisa even let him come back to apologize? He knew he had to try, but...

This could never happen again. Dean knew that there was only one way to insure that it didn't.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the ache in his chest. He was alone again. He already missed that feeling. That someone was not just waiting for him to come home. That they missed him and wanted him back. Once he thought that Sam and Bobby had felt like that, but they'd been fine without him for a whole year. He'd taken Lisa for granted the same way he'd taken Sam for granted before Stanford and his Dad before...

He snorted. God. He was a slow learner. It's no wonder he never did better than a GED. Maybe it _was_ him.

Everyone leaves. Or he loses them. Or gets them killed.

But there was one thing he could do. He could hunt. He could try to save people. And he could try to figure out what was wrong with his brother. And then he'd have to decide which he'd have to do to Sam...


End file.
